Author's Note: This story is serious. Really.
For those of you who don't know the fic 'Sanctified By Oppresion', wherein this one is set (or some time during the course of it), just think post-war Armada, before Prime's return, and while the Minicons are in state custody, or whatever it's really called…
Credit must be given to ckret2, Cobalt, several members of the Padded Cell, and also the Armada MTMTE, for reasons that should be obvious by the time you reach the explanation at the bottom. Also Sideways, because although he is in fact dead…
…this remains entirely his fault, and possibly Starscream's. As Retort would say, it always is.
We have yet to figure out how to blame this on Thrust.
Ashwall
Part One: Politics, Paperwork, and Biscuit Cake
Excerpt from the notes of Makeshift, Emergency Team Minicon
…And so the war was officially over: the terms of the peace agreement were settled in a summit meeting on Earth. At the head of the newly unified government were a former Autobot, Hot Shot, and a former Decepticon, Demolisher. Despite their mutual dislike of each other, and regardless of their constant disagreements, Cybertron was more or less being restored. Few people thought about Unicron any more, and of those who had known about Sideways, only one or two spared a passing thought to wonder what exactly it was that he had been. Our past enemies were no longer able to trouble us, and so we felt no need to worry about old news.
In hindsight, I feel that I or my team-mates, at least, should have known better. We did not realise that nobody vanishes entirely without a trace. There's always something left behind…even if it is only the empty shell of a life.
As it turned out, it's all very well to let the dead rest, but sometimes, just sometimes, they get up and come after you with a stick.
(Makeshift thought for a moment, and then added,)
And sometimes it is disturbingly easy to get confused between 'alive, 'dead' and 'seeking to be'…
It has been said that people aren't very good at defining the continuous, and this is true. It is constantly demonstrated when two or more people are discussing colour:
Person 1: "You see that beige and red tank?"
Person 2: "It's orange and tan."
Person 1: "All right, reddish orange."
Person 3: "What are you talking about? It's orange and brown!"
It gets still worse when people don't really understand what they are talking about:
Person 2: Tan!
Person 3: Beige and orange!
Person 4 (bemusedly): I thought it was green, myself.
Persons 1/2/3: What?
Certainly, people find such things hard to deal with: clearly, at one and of the scale there is one thing, and on the other end there is another, but in between it is impossible to decide the precise point where one changes to the other. So far, the best answer one can give when asked what is in the middle is 'something in between'. A better description might be 'something else'.
So there was no specific moment when a few stray lines of code became a coherent pattern, or when they became something more entirely.
There was, however, a moment, just for an instant, when something saw, and heard, and felt for the first time. (What it felt, most of all, was astonishment.)
And then it was gone again, and sank back to the place from whence it had originated, and there was darkness, and confusion, and the feeling of falling, and then nothing at all but for a lingering sense of wistfulness and yearning.
The daylight withdrew from the streets of Regalix, principal city on the planet of Cybertron, leaving behind it indistinct shadows, until the streetlights came on and brightened to compensate for the fading sun.
In the room where four of the city's smaller inhabitants were idling away the time, as they always did these days, it was six minutes before any of them thought to turn the internal lights on. When he did, they shone on his three companions: a blocky red Minicon with some blue and white trim who was occupied with a vidscreen; a more lanky 'bot with a pale silver shell, who was sitting at a table with yet another datapad, mind obviously lost in his notes; and then there was another, slightly on the edge of the group, a stocky orange red Minicon with black treads on his legs and shoulders, who sat on another side of the table, his chair turned at an angle to the work surface, fiddling with a bulky, oblong shaped piece of equipment in his lap. The one who had turned on the light rested his gaze on this last one a moment; the orange one was an outsider, technically, but like a few others had earned the right, one way or another, to make themselves at home around this team. There was no simple way to describe it; you simply were one of them when you knew you were: and understanding that was half the key to getting there.
Dismissing the thought – it was not a new one for him – he turned back to the window and caught sight of his reflection for a moment; perhaps he should have thought first, before turning on the lights. He did linger for a second to examine the image, half hoping his paint had dulled or something so he could waste time repairing it, just to have something new to do. But no: he was no different, optical visor and faceplate in place, head and arms white, upper legs a dark grey, lower legs and torso deep blue, tyres above his shoulders and each spur still where it should be on his outer leg.
With a slightly annoyed shrug, he raised his head to look significantly beyond the reflection to the outside world. Then, remembering why he couldn't, with a muted curse, he polarised his optics. Instantly the reflections disappeared from his vision and he could see through the window.
Regalix… how many unsolved crimes already sullied the young city's record? How many whispered conversations held the answer to mysteries that lurked in forgotten corners of the planet? How many planted rumours had already taken root and cast the seeds of myths and misinformation into the air of mistrust that hung like a pall over the values of interdependence, truth and friendship on which this city had been founded? How many myths clung to corners and settled around her spires and spread tendrils into as yet unconquered alleyways and side streets, and grew, and fed, and evolved?
Prowl's broody musings were interrupted by the sense of frustration that rose in him as he watched the various transformers going about their business below. Part of him remembered how different it had been on Earth, where traffic slowed as darkness fell and whole populations joined in the ritual of sleep. On Cybertron, however, where the populace did not require sleep as such, the change was not in volume but in individual direction, as shifts changed and time passed, some people heading for personal lodgings, some for recreation areas, others moving off on whatever matters busied them. Others chose now to pick up supplies or search out a cube or two of energon. All of them, however, had one thing in common, as Prowl's inner voice reminded him petulantly: they were free to live as they chose.
What was the use of having experts if you kept them in a luxurious, idle captivity? He wondered sulkily. Out there, his skills might be some use. Out there, he might be able to prove his abilities, to earn the recognition he yearned for. In here, he was, quite simply, bored.
All good things come to an end, he supposed; bad things too, it followed, and the war coming to an end was certainly a good thing. Not that Prowl would have said otherwise, of course. He was surely among the last people to seek senseless violence, and it was a pleasant thought that hundreds of people were not beating each other to death every hour of the day.
On the other hand, it was terribly vexing to spend much of a crisis (and a maddeningly long war surely counted as such) unable to do the job you were built for. Even so, not being the type to bear a grudge, Prowl would have happily forgotten the issue… were it not that the people who had prevented his working before continued to bar him from giving his services now.
To a member of the Minicon Emergency Team, and to Prowl in particular, this was anything but good.
"One of these days, I'm going to get out of here. And then, I'm going to burn this place," the small blue and white robot muttered, looking dismally through the window at the darkening streets below.
"Yeah, and then Seek Destroy will kill you for getting there before him. And half the rest of us. And then I'll have to put it out," snorted Firebot, hitting the pause button on his vidscreen in order to focus better on the imminent argument, a rare and therefore valuable source of entertainment. The red Minicon shook his head. "It's most likely a good thing we're locked up, 'cause if you were out you'd probably be annoying every barkeeper in the city. On the other hand, at least you wouldn't be annoying us. But then, we'd have to be the ones to save your shell for you."
"And once he'd finished locating and assaulting every barkeeper in Regalix, he'd promptly drop dead of energy loss," observed Makeshift without looking up from his notes.
Neither of the quarrelling pair paid any attention to their third's vague contribution, which was fine by him. They were talking nonsense again, he knew, but Makeshift felt obliged to give his professional opinion, for the sake of principles. Prowl drew himself up, looking as haughty as anyone can through a faceplate. "Well, at least I'm not addicted to watching substandard films."
"Nor am I," countered Firebot, "but what else is there to do?"
"Do they always argue like this?" the fourth person in the room quietly asked Makeshift. The silver transformer shrugged.
"Only when they've got nothing better with which to occupy their time."
Iceberg glanced at the others. "About alien entertainment?"
"Only since coming out of stasis to find themselves stuck in a base in a secret war zone with some childish aliens and one of the armies they left to escape from for company."
The orange Minicon returned the focus of his attention to the object in his hands. "Ah, so they're in shock?"
"Either they are or I am. Possibly both." Makeshift's optical band dimmed as he shook his head, the gesture roughly equivalent to a sigh. "I wouldn't mind, but on the trip back from Earth they filled each other's storage lockers, begged most of mine from me, and we still had piles of books and film discs all over our quarters.
"Seriously?" The Adventure Minicon sounded amused.
"Most of the way we couldn't get the door open," the V-22 said gloomily. "In the end we just wedged the door open with one stack and stepped over the rest."
"How many did they bring back, anyway?"
"I'm not sure… I do know Prowl had five hundred and thirty four of those novels…."
Iceberg frowned. "That's pretty exact."
"Yes, I know. He kept counting them very loudly to be sure Firebot hadn't thrown any out of an airlock."
"Well, for all I knew, he might have done," sulked Prowl, alerting Iceberg and Makeshift to the fact that the argument had been dropped in favour of listening to their conversation. Iceberg shook his head.
"Wouldn't it have been simpler just to bring back the whole slotting planet?"
"Probably," Makeshift agreed, "but they couldn't find a lever big enough to move it." Firebot gave a snort of amused agreement; Prowl scowled but said nothing.
"Y'know, we should probably be happy about this. I mean, it's enforced time off, when you think about it." Iceberg chuckled. "There are a lot of people who'd love to be ordered into subsidised retirement."
"Yeah," Prowl agree, "only, the trouble is, we like working."
"No kidding," Iceberg groaned. "You don't want to know what my team mates are like. Between Dune Runner and Ransack…" He shook his head soberly. "People designed to map uncharted planets and explore 'brave new worlds' should not be cooped up in a building of which there are maps up on display every second corridor!"
The Minicons in the room observed a moment of silent in tribute to the stupidity of all officials, everywhere.
"Tell me," Prowl said idly, when they were done, "Why are we stuck with this again?"
"Because the Autobots won't let us work on the grounds that it would be 'forced labour' or 'slave driving' or some such nonsense," answered Makeshift.
"Hah!" exclaimed Firebot, shaking his head in disgust. Prowl folded his arms and glared back out of the window. Firebot looked over at his teammate. "Why don't you read another of your books?" he suggested, not unkindly.
"I can't," muttered the gloomy one. Before one of the others could ask, he added, "I've read 'em all."
"All of them?" exclaimed the red Minicon. "You've only had them, what…"
"Three years, give or take a month or four." Prowl's voice was flat and toneless. "You can check it on the computer, if you like."
"Even the one about that organic who- "
"The poison was in the biscuit cake."
"I knew it!" crowed Firebot and then shut up, seeing Makeshift's disapproving glance and taking the hint: now was not the time. His other partner was looking decidedly downcast, so he said, "When are we supposed to be able to make contact with Earth again? You should be able to get some more then. Do you know what the projections are?"
Prowl considered this. "I don't know. You've got the highest security clearance here; why don't you look it up on the WorldNet files?"
"Why not?" Firebot shrugged, turning back to the computer in front of him. As he began to tap various icons on the screen, Makeshift spoke up.
"You could read my discs. Some of the scientific journals are really quite interesting, and I don't think you've seen any of them yet."
Prowl thought about this. "OK," he said, visibly brightening up. "Pass one over."
"Oh, I don't have them here," said Makeshift. "I lent them to Dune Runner. You know," he added, glancing at Iceberg, "…to take his mind off of things a bit."
The Adventure Minicon nodded, privately grateful that his desert loving team mate had had something with which to keep himself busy. "I know where he is." He set his project on the table and hauled himself out of his seat. "I'll give myself a break from this stupid backpack and go and get them now. See you in a minute."
"Thanks!" called Prowl as the orange-red 'bot left. He wandered over to the table and glanced over Makeshift's shoulder for a moment. "So, aren't you bored?"
"Of course not. We've been in stasis for a million years, Prowl. With so many advances in medical and other technologies, there's far too much for me to catch up on for me to be bored."
"Silly me." The car-former prodded the 'backpack' on the table. "Hasn't Iceberg gotten this thing to work yet?"
"No," said Makeshift, looking up at the thing in question. "It would seem that it requires an initial jumpstart beyond the level of the energy allowance currently permitted to us."
"What is it, anyway?"
"A long term storage battery," replied the silver 'bot. "While we were on Earth, Astroscope and his friends discovered a lucrative market for long life batteries. For the last two years they have been taking advantage of the facilities here to develop and refine batteries that actually do last much longer than expected. As I understand it, he and Payload were only too happy to allow a fellow Minicon to make some use of their latest model's prototype."
"Lucky Space Team. At least they get to continue their work in some way," Prowl said, without resentment. "But surely Iceberg wouldn't let a little thing like rules stop hi "
Their companion interrupted him. "Huh, that's odd." Firebot was peering at his vidscreen as though unable to understand what it was telling him.
"And that's never a good sign," grumbled Prowl. "What's it this time?"
"The chronometer on this thing says we're one thousand and ninety five years in the future."
"What?"
"It's probably just a system error," the red Minicon shrugged. "The whole thing's been full of bugs lately. The Autobot and Decepticon databases apparently didn't take too well to being merged."
"Firebot..." Prowl's optical band narrowed slightly in a frown. "That shouldn't have any effect on the chronometers." He looked between his teammates. "Should it?"
"I don't know." Firebot looked thoughtful. "Maybe…"
"Hold on, hold on," interrupted Makeshift. "If the mainframe's chronometers aren't working, how many vital programs is that affecting?" His partners returned his anxious gaze. "Are we talking 'people at risk' here?"
"Could be," said Firebot tersely. He glanced back at the screen, and then stared at it. "It's changed. Now it says we're 12 years and twenty minutes in the past. Oh… now we're 3.1 seconds into the future." The screen flashed and went dark. So did everything else. "Ah."
"Guys," Prowl said slowly, "if the computer that runs the city that runs the planet isn't working, and we don't know why…. That's a bit of a mystery, am I right?"
"It's certainly an emergency." Firebot's partners did not need to see him to know he was nodding and folding his arms where he sat.
"Innocent lives could be endangered…" Makeshift murmured.
"Right then," agreed Firebot. "We all know what we have to do, yes?"
"Yes," the others said at the same time.
"OK." Firebot fell silent. Makeshift waited. After a minute, as so often had happened before, both the search specialist and the team leader turned to him in the darkness.
One said, "Makeshift?"
"Yes?" he responded, as always, and counted the seconds.
"…How are we going to do this?"
Right on cue. Makeshift sat and pondered. After a minute or two, he looked up at his friends. "This is what we do…"
Hendiadys was responsible for organising the many repair and maintenance crews required to keep Regalix running smoothly. He had little to do with the actual construction crews – they operated on the understanding that he merely paid them and let them get on with things – but he made sure that once something was up, it stayed up. (Be it a system or a building or a project.)
Of course, sometimes things like this happened.
He was standing in the lower levels of the base, surrounded by masses of cable and computer that, for the time being at least, formed the core of Regalix's computer systems. He was standing very still, because he knew there was delicate wiring behind him and all around his head, but also because he was staring at the 'bot in front of him. He knew from having seen them before that the 'bot was pale green, but right now the only visible colour was from the pair of feverishly bright optics in front of him, and they were brilliant red.
It seemed a long time ago, now, but Hendiadys had been an Autobot. Unlike much of the population, he had willingly shed his faction symbols and unlike virtually every other transformer, he'd happily dropped any pretence of allegiance to anyone. And he quite liked some of the Decepticons under his management. He often found his own faction's attitudes as tiresome as the other's, and at least most of the Decepticons had the sense to keep working while they complained, or in one or two cases simply hated the world and everything in it to have time or energy left for mere Autobots. Personally, Hendiadys cared nothing for wars or sides, being far too preoccupied with what a person could do, how long they could work, and what wages they'd settle for.
Not that anyone had time to gripe about such trivial things as factions. Not with databases to be merged and the floors falling out and mines all over the place and terraforming equipment to be monitored and fixed every other hour. Nor did Hendiadys have any qualms about pitching in every now and again when it was needed – and neither, it seemed, did anyone else: the secretary had received something of a shock one morning during a particularly busy spell, when he spotted Demolisher helping a construction crew of some sort. He'd promptly gone running to tell Retort that one of Cybertron's two leaders was down on a building site.
Retort, being the Senior Secretary for the government, had said that that was quite all right provided that he, Demolisher, was not in the office reading things again. Hendiadys understood his point. Demolisher was a good leader where getting things done was concerned, which was far from unsuitable now, while the planet needed rebuilding. Once things were stable again, however, it was unlikely he would last. As far as Hendiadys could tell, the government was perfectly capable of adapting to the leadership and management styles of whichever leader stayed, Hot Shot or Demolisher. It just needed to know which one, and fairly soon, too. Hendiadys suspected that Hot Shot was far more likely to hold on to his position.
In the meantime, however, there was work to be done.
"All of them?" he asked.
"Yeah," piped the pale green transformer in front of him. "Every single last freaking computer in the base is down."
"Even the backup system?"
"What backup?"
Hendiadys would have sighed, had he ever heard of the expression. Truth be told, he was rather fond of this particular subordinate. The ex-Decepticon was obedient to authority, fairly intelligent, and did not cause trouble. Unfortunately, said underling was also barely qualified for his job. "Terrorsheen," he explained patiently, "there is supposed to be a backup system in reserve for such emergencies as these."
"…Oh." Terrorsheen fidgeted noisily for a few minutes, trying to think of something to say to his expectant boss. "I'll, uh, I'll just go and find it, then," he said eventually. Shifting to his vehicle mode, one of the spider tanks often found among the Decepticon ranks, he scuttled off down an aisle between the rows of computer equipment. Hendiadys' optics dimmed to the colour of straw as he stared at the floor, wondering when he had ever been this exhausted.
After a while, he eased his way out from the mass of wires, and began picking his way through the room, grateful that although his night vision was far from acute, he could at least see reasonably well in the dark.
He never suspected that he was being watched.
The lights came back on as suddenly as they had disappeared. Firebot's optics flickered as they readjusted themselves, but the slight disorientation was only momentary. Looking through the nearest window, he saw light flooding the streets as power returned to the city. Regalix was much more impressive by night: the sky looked pitch black, which to his mind was a vast improvement.
The leader of the Emergency Team shrugged it off and strode around the corner. Frightened and surprised Minicons were clustered in twos and threes along the hall, muttering amongst themselves. Some of them turned in his direction as he hesitated. Then he gave them an encouraging smile and a cheerful wave. "Nothing to worry about!" he called, walking on, past them. "Just had a bit of a glitch there. Everything's back now, no problem!"
The presence of an Emergency Minicon reassured the groups, even if they weren't quite sure how he was involved. Someone fell into step with Firebot as he passed. It was Ransack; leader of the Adventure Team and fellow sympathizer as far as the Anti-Being-Stuck-Inside Crusade was concerned.
"What was the glitch? How did you get the power back?" whispered the dark green 'bot with a frown.
Firebot shrugged. "Beats me, but I guess someone found the plug." They reached the next corner, and he caught Ransack's arm. "Hold on a minute."
"What are you doing?" The explorer's visor was bright with interest as the red Minicon leaned forward and peered around the corner, withdrawing hastily before he could be spotted. "You asked me for help, but you didn't say what with."
"Sneaking past Diddlysquat," Firebot said simply.
"Good idea. Why?"
"There's one computer in this block that's cleared to access high security information at the level I'm thinking of doing, and he's supposed to restrict access to it."
"You realise he'd probably let you use it anyway."
"Yes, Ransack, but there's going to be trouble later on, and I'd rather leave him out of it."
"Oh." Ransack paused. "I hate to tell you this, my friend, but couldn't he be held responsible for letting you sneak past him?"
"Not if he's busy dealing with a crisis," Firebot said grimly.
Ransack hesitated, staring at his friend. "What crisis?"
"The crisis that he's going to run into in a minute." Firebot glanced at the other Minicon. "You aren't worried about this, are you?"
"No, of course not. Why would I be worried?"
"Well, he is a twenty-eight foot tank with half a dozen different types of weaponry, and we are four-and-a-half foot robots with a broad experience of pub brawls."
The yellow-visored Minicon thought about this. "Yes?" he said politely.
"Never mind."
"This is one of Makeshift's plans, isn't it?"
"Um… yes."
"I love that boy."
Firebot would have sighed, but had never quite gotten the hang of it. "You did leave Makeshift with Diddlysquat, right?"
"They were talking about newsdisks when I left."
"Good. Then we should just have to wait…."
Judging from the conversation around the corner that it was his cue, Prowl transformed to his vehicle mode, a human police pursuit car. Reversing back to the end of the side corridor he was in, he shot forward, gaining speed every instant. The Minicon spun around the corner, past an astonished 'bot with a datapad, and neatly flipped himself over at full speed, incidentally embedding himself some way into the wall.
"Prowl?" Diddlysquat looked as though he was either astonished that the search specialist would ever do something so stupid, or furious that someone had actually done so.
"Erk… Primus that hurts," the Minicon groaned. The spider tank was about to start berating him when Makeshift bent over the fallen 'bot.
"Prowl? Are you all right?" he asked gently (and genuinely, even if he already knew the answer).
"Something… hurts like Pit," Prowl gasped.
"Can you transform?"
"I… guess so." The car shifted slightly a few times, and then transformed properly. "Ow!" Makeshift caught Prowl before he fell, and then lowered him to a sitting position, opening a panel on the afflicted Minicon's back.
"What's wrong with him?" Diddlysquat demanded, hovering over them worriedly. For all the trouble they caused him, he still liked the Minicons, and the thought of an accident befalling one of them was not a pleasant one - especially if said accident occurred right under his nose.
"I'm not sure," came the terse reply. "Oh. Oh dear Primus…" The Minicon considered, and prepared himself to demonstrate How To Talk Complete And Utter Gibberish But Make It Sound Like Legitimate Techno-babble.
"What is it?"
Makeshift examined his partner's innards, horror etched on his face. "The mythrill lines have been completely dislocated. He's not getting any chlorophyll to his CPU." The medic looked up at Diddlysquat. "I need to realign them with a Matek brand taze beam or he could die in minutes."
The caretaker shrugged, making a note to find out what 'chlorophyll' was and why you needed it in your CPU. Makeshift, however, was neither a liar nor incompetent, which was more than Diddlysquat could say for a lot of 'bots he'd had to work with. (It was even more than he could honestly say about himself at times.) "Fine. Get going."
The Minicon shook his head incredulously. "Diddlysquat, we do not have that kind of equipment! Not in this block, at any rate."
The caretaker looked panicked. "Can't you just use the tools here?"
"With the grav filaments in that position?" Makeshift demanded angrily. "Do you have any idea how much damage that could cause? Do you know what that would do to the graviolli?"
"No, not really, thanks," muttered the patient, too quietly for the larger transformer to hear him. Makeshift responded with an oblique prod, prompting another strained moan from the search specialist.
The ex-Decepticon shook his head uncertainly and wished Hypotenuse was around right now. "No…"
"He'd go into monkeytronic shock," Makeshift said grimly. "And believe me, neither of us wants to see that happen."
Diddlysquat wondered for the tenth time in as many seconds where exactly Hypotenuse was, and completely failed to notice the pair of Minicons sneaking through a restricted doorway behind him.
"So, what exactly are you looking for?" Ransack asked.
"Lists of missing persons. Anyone who could have caused the blackout, however they did it."
"But for all you know, it might have been an accident."
Firebot shook his head. "Is that really the point here? Besides, all the anti-viral programs are running, look." He indicated a browser window that had appeared on the screen. "Even the really serious ones. Something must have set them off," declared Firebot, Expert On Programs He'd Barely Noticed Existed.
"Granted," admitted Ransack, "but how do you plan on getting to that kind of information? That sort of thing is usually classified, you know."
"Ransack, have you entirely forgotten my function, or did you just leave your CPU at home today? I'm cleared to view all information and files pertaining to possible rescue missions and so on, just as you are for anything to do with exploration or whatever else it is you do."
The Adventure Minicon ignored his last few words. "I thought those privileges would have been rescinded when we left Cybertron."
"Looks like someone kindly reinstated us when we got back."
"But we aren't working," Ransack objected.
Firebot's optics brightened in a combination of humour and incredulity. "What, are you complaining about this?"
The green one's visor flashed in surprise. "No, I just want to know who is responsible so I can thank them. Are they trying to torment us or do they actually want us to find a way around the rule?"
"Who cares, as long as we do?"
"Good point." They sat in silence for a few seconds, until Ransack spoke up again. "Wait… as long as we do what?"
"Find a way around the rule."
"Oh, that's all right the-"
Firebot interrupted him. "Take a look at this, Ransack."
Ransack looked. And read. And continued looking. "Ah," he said. "Now that is interesting."
From where he was sitting with his back to Makeshift, Prowl could see through Diddlysquat's legs and down the hallway. He groaned again, just for the effect.
Above him, the caretaker and the medic were discussing their options. Diddlysquat was looking increasingly miserable: Prowl couldn't help but feel sorry for him.
He was getting bored with the play-acting, so the investigator was somewhat relieved to see first Firebot, and then Ransack, slipping out of a room further down the corridor. He waited until both were safely out of sight around the corner, and he judged them to be long gone. Then he sat up straighter, looked from one transformer to the other and said brightly, "I think I'm all right now."
"But you- "
"…Have got to go!" Prowl scrambled to his feet and ran back the way he had originally come, leaving the other two 'bots gaping after him. Makeshift looked back at Diddlysquat, and for a moment he seemed to be about to say something, but instead transformed and flew after his partner.
The caretaker was left standing alone in the corridor, trying to figure out what the Pit had just happened. After a second and a half he came to the only logical conclusion (and, in his experience, the first choice when Minicons were involved).
The yell brought Hypotenuse and Tangent running, the first to see what was going on and the latter to complain about idiot transformers who didn't keep the noise down.
"PROWL!"
The Emergency Team regrouped near the main entrance to the base. Nobody paid them any real attention; even apart from being less than a sixth of the size of anyone else, they were not visibly armed and did not look particularly interesting. Besides, it wasn't as if Minicons didn't occasionally pass through this block.
"So, what have we got?" asked Prowl.
"Missing persons list," said Firebot, handing him a datapad. "And a system report on the error that led to the blackout," he added, giving another one to Makeshift.
" 'Error originated in grid five-one-three-zero'," the medic read. "I take it that we'll begin our search from there?"
"Right," his leader agreed. "But take a look at this." He tapped the datapad Prowl was reading. "Look at number one-six-five."
Prowl glanced at the name. "Laserbeak." The name sunk in and he stared at his partners. Firebot nodded on seeing his shock.
"Laserbeak," Makeshift said in surprise. "The little camera-bird Laserbeak?"
"Yep," Firebot agreed, "and just look at the details."
Prowl obediently tapped the datapad. His visor brightened still further. "Last located in grid five-two-one-eight. Hey, that's pretty close to where the error- "
"That's what I thought," agreed the red Minicon.
"Oh." Prowl looked disappointed that someone else had noticed the similarity before he had. He consoled himself with the thought that he wouldn't miss a chance next time.
"So we are going to look for Laserbeak first, then?" Makeshift interjected, moving the discussion on a bit, before Prowl could get any more dejected.
"Of course." Firebot did not hold with the idea of preferential treatment, but it wasn't as if they knew anyone else was in danger and therefore deserved to be treated as priority case, and whether or not the location of Laserbeak's disappearance was a coincidence, it was a compelling reason to go after him first. Well, it certainly made sense to Firebot.
"But how are we going to slip out of the base unnoticed?" Makeshift's aura radiated concern. "We are not supposed to be permitted to leave without the correct authorisation, and we can hardly afford to our waste time in going in search of that, surely?"
"Ransack said he could see to it that the guards were distracted. At least enough so that we could get away without anybody noticing."
"Oh." Makeshift forced himself to look calm, although he was tempted to comment on the daring Adventure Minicon's involvement. It wasn't that Ransack was untrustworthy; quite the reverse, in fact: Ransack and his team were among the very few people that both Makeshift and his partners could trust as readily and very nearly as completely as they would one another within their own team. Both teams often worked in the kind of extremely hazardous situations that tended to form close and marked friendships; with the level of trust and interdependence that they often needed, it was almost inevitable that this was so. But where Ransack was otherwise a sensible, practical, down to earth, straight thinking person, when he was bored he had a genius for getting himself into impossible – no, ridiculous situations, usually due to his complete inability, or so it often seemed, to resist a challenge. Fortunately for the sanity of his exasperated team mates, the dark green Minicon also had something of a flair for getting all three of them out of such situations, mostly because his incredible and absolute confidence in their abilities often led them to find a way out even when all hope seemed lost. Makeshift just hoped their luck would hold this time – and that whatever Ransack had in mind this time, his partners would stop him from going too far, or at least keep him from getting himself killed in some ridiculous stunt.
Firebot looked between his team members. "Does anyone have any questions? No? Then let's go!"
"I've got two, actually," said Prowl sourly.
"Well, go on, then," said Firebot cheerfully. "What are they?"
"We've got this quest sorted out and declared our goals and whatnot, and we know, basically, what we're going to do, right?"
"Right!" the red one agreed easily.
"Now could someone close up my back, please?"
Hypotenuse followed the Minicon caretaker in confusion. "OK… why do you want to hunt Prowl down and interrogate him, again?"
"He's up to something," Diddlysquat said grimly. "I've just got to find out what it is."
The blue Minicon did not argue with him. It made sense, of course. Letting Minicons run around, carrying out their own schemes unchecked, was a sure-fire way to wind up with your head welded to a vending machine and the planet set to turn itself into a pen pot within the hour (as he could personally testify). It was just that the Emergency Minicons, of all people, were responsible, levelheaded 'bots; they had never shown any sign of giving trouble before. As a result, Hypotenuse found this aberration especially baffling.
He had to at least try and defend Prowl, both from species loyalty and his solemn duty as Diddlysquat's inner voice personified. "He is probably doing this for a very good reason."
"Yeah, I know. That's what I'm afraid of." The ex Decepticon paused by a doorway to peer into an unlit room.
"Oh."
"He's not in here," said Diddlysquat, stepping back from the doorway. "Let's-" He was cut off by the approach of an unfamiliar robot. The stranger glanced at a datapad in his hand, and then at the blue, yellow and white tank-former.
"Ah, you would be Diddlysquat?"
"Sounds like me, yeah," agreed the other non-Minicon present.
"Looks like the library finally caught up with you on those overdue disks," murmured the Minicon by his foot. Diddlysquat ignored him.
"And you, sir, Hypotenuse?" The smaller 'bot nodded. "Excellent. Now then," said Hendiadys, "if you would be so kind as to come with me, Retort would like to see you immediately."
He turned and walked away. Diddlysquat and Hypotenuse looked from him to each other. "Well, I guess we'd better go and see what the boss wants," shrugged the tank-bot, and followed him.
One advantage of being the person secretly in control of your planet's government was that you could always be sure of having one of the better offices. And Retort certainly did have one of those. Granted, he had to share it with two subordinates, but since one was his secretary and the other Hendiadys, who was usually out somewhere supervising the many public projects that came under his jurisdiction, Retort counted himself lucky. Partially this was because most of the room was essentially his, but also because this was indeed only a temporary measure, and he knew that as soon as sufficient buildings were completed, he would have an office to himself.
He rather liked this one, though. The room was large enough to comfortably accommodate all three of its occupants, and the outer wall was mostly windows, offering a somewhat pleasing, if at times distracting, view of the city. Sometimes, when he was alone in the office, like now, he simply stood and watched it, remembering when most of it had been wasteland and the rest in ruins.
He was doing that when Hendiadys walked through the door with the two people he had been sent to fetch. "Ah, Diddlysquat, come in. And how are your charges getting on these days?"
"I wouldn't say they're progressing," said Hypotenuse as the tank-former attempted to translate this. "More like 'sinking into a catatonic state of apathy and despair'."
Retort looked amused as he seated himself behind his desk. "Is it that bad?" Diddlysquat eyed him, trying to size him up. The secretary was as tall as he was, if not as sturdy, his shell coloured a cheerful red, in keeping with the upbeat tone and attitude the government was taking. Diddlysquat doubted that his transform was a military vehicle, but something about his name and manner made the tank question that judgement.
Hypotenuse was happily ignorant of his partner's mistrust, but even more cynical about anything involving the government. "You know when people say they'll die of boredom? Well, leave it a few weeks and I think we may begin to see the first ever cases of it as they're being recorded in the medical annals."
"I see. And you are…" Retort checked the datapad with his notes on it, "…Hypotenuse. One third of the Minicon supercomputer Syntax."
"It's not all that super, but yeah, I'm its common sense."
Feeling that all of the talking was getting them nowhere, Diddlysquat decided to take the blunt approach. "So, what did you want us for?"
"Well, there is a small problem that has been brought to our attention. No doubt you recall the power cut earlier?"
"Duh," said Diddlysquat and Hypotenuse together.
"Yes, well… our investigations are continuing, of course, but the team to whom we have given the task will require some leads to follow up on."
"Yeah, so?" Diddlysquat considered revising his initial judgement of his 'boss': sure, he'd never even met the guy before, but he wasn't exactly being impressed by this encounter.
"So," repeated Retort, looking pained, "we need to find some leads for them, naturally."
Diddlysquat frowned. "But isn't finding the leads their job?"
Retort and Hendiadys chuckled at that. "Oh, no, of course not! We can't have public investigation teams running around digging up their own facts willy nilly!"
Diddlysquat looked confused. "We can't?" Beside him, Hypotenuse nodded his agreement to the question, wearing a puzzled frown.
"No!" exclaimed Retort. "Who knows what they'd find!"
"But… aren't they supposed to uncover the truth?"
"A truth," corrected the black one.
At that, the tank-bot gave up trying to work his way through their logic. "Look, you're the politicians here, OK? Not me! So shut up and talk sense!" The two officials nodded slowly. "Now explain this to me plain and simple, or else find someone else to blether on at. Got it?"
"Of course," said Retort, looking amused. "In short, we dare not let the investigators look wherever they will, in case they turn up something embarrassing that we were supposed to know about but did not. So we need someone to go and find out the truth, then give us the facts so that we can decide which ones to give to the investigation team."
"Why don't you just be honest? Take the risk and the blame too, if you deserve it. That's what the Decepticons used to do," he added proudly. Mostly 'cause they'd probably have been found out anyway, but there's no way I'll tell him that.
"Yes, I know we did, but it is more complicated than that," said Retort irritably.
"Right." Diddlysquat gave a snort of scepticism as he sat back and folded his arms, trying to hide his surprise. "How?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"How is it more complicated?" repeated the warden.
"Well, for one thing, there is already one aspect of the situation that we cannot at any chance make the general public aware of."
"What's that?"
"The involvement of a trio of escapees belonging to a group recently liberated from their oppressors and whose absence from the area to which they were restricted could prove not only extremely embarrassing to the government but also extremely dangerous, and so whose retrieval and return to this area and their place of residence is of the utmost importance and high priority to those concerned with the welfare of the planet: to whit, our humble selves," Retort said.
For a few moments Diddlysquat said nothing; just stared at the administrator. Then, very slowly, he leaned down towards Hypotenuse and muttered, "What did he say?"
"We've lost three of the Minicons," said the smaller 'bot.
"What? Who?"
"The Emergency Team," Retort informed him. "The base sensors record them as having exited the scanner range an hour ago."
"Then why wasn't I told about it?" shouted Diddlysquat. "An alert is supposed to be sounded if even one Minicon leaves! How did three get past?"
"Diddlysquat, if the alarms went off every time the sensors couldn't pick up a Minicon, we'd have alarms going off every hour of the day," Retort sighed. "Think about it. At least two Minicons have the ability to cloak themselves from sensors, and with the system turning up errors all the time; it might fail to count one. It was felt that the safest option was to have an error margin of three."
"So now they're out there. Great. Who's going to get them back?"
"You are, of course."
"…Oh."
"Hypotenuse is going to handle things while you are gone, and warn the other Minicons not to cloak until you return." Retort gave him a faint smile. "Find Firebot and his team, find out what or who caused the system failure this morning, return as soon as possible to report to me, and keep your job."
"Great. So you've just sent me on a life or death mission to save the planet?"
"Well… you'll be saving the government… which is, of course, essentially the same thing, so yes, yes I have."
"Wonderful. Anything else you want?"
"Well…" Retort glanced back at his notes. "There is something here about overdue library datapads…" He looked up in time to see the door close behind Diddlysquat, Hypotenuse close behind. "…I suppose we can always deal with it at a more opportune date, of course…"
Outside, Hypotenuse looked up at Diddlysquat. "Well, that went well."
Diddlysquat held back from giving in to his urge to hit something. "Slaggit, I knew Prowl was up to something!"
"Looks like Makeshift and Firebot were in on it, too. I wonder why they decided to make a break for it now?"
"I don't know, but when I find them…" the tank-former trailed off, too angry to come up with a rational threat. "I didn't know Retort was a Decepticon," he said instead.
"Neither did I. Of course, given that, it makes you wonder how he got the job of Senior Secretary."
"Huh," Diddlysquat snorted. "Look at our leaders. One's working too hard to notice much and the other's a rookie who wouldn't know about anything unless you hit him over the head with it." He thought about Hot Shot. "Maybe not even then," he amended.
"Well, he does spend all his time having fun," Hypotenuse said dryly. "And it is a new Golden Age of Peace and Prosperity and we should all be Joyful and Looking To The Future, Taking A Positive View and Thinking Good Thoughts, don't you know?"
Diddlysquat growled. "I'll give them good thoughts…"
In a mostly empty corridor several levels below them, there was an awakening. The thing that had stirred twitched and flicked a stiff wing as it examined itself. Then it tilted a wary sensor upwards and took a quick look around itself, letting out a few beeps of confusion.
What is going on here? It thought, taken by surprise. How did I get here? When did I get here? For that matter, where is 'here'?
There was a brief moment of unsteadiness as the life form in the hallway tried to move forward, only to find it being held back from behind. Craning its head back over a wing, it quickly discovered why: there was a cable plugged into the port on its right flank.
The creature tried to eject the cable in the usual manner, only to discover that it couldn't access the port in which the cable was plugged: the port would not respond to the creature, and equally the creature couldn't feel it. It was difficult to get off: in the end the creature simply pinned the cable to the floor with one foot while it hooked its wing under the cable and tugged it upward. It took nearly a quarter of an hour to get it off of the creature, but at last the cable came loose and the creature was free.
It staggered as damage warnings and reports flashed in its vision. The circuitry around the port was completely burnt out, which explained why the creature had had no access to it, as well as the lack of sensory input from that area. The creature paused, and looked back at the cable, its gaze travelling along the full length of the object until it disappeared from visual range.
Then there came realisation, and with it, fear. Whatever it was the cable had led to, it was something that someone had wanted the creature to be connected to. Linked with, even.
Then memory, made crueller by understanding, called to its mind another link, another time, another reawakening…
The small one turned away from the cable, and fled.
In the office, Retort finished giving Hendiadys his instructions. "Just see to it that they succeed in slipping away unnoticed."
"Yes, Retort."
As the other 'bot stepped out of the door, Retort glanced down at the foot of his desk. "Well?"
The orange Minicon leaning against it shrugged up at him. "My gestalt-mate is as eager to band together with fellow minions against his superiors as he always was. I was pleasantly surprised that he did not turn into a good little sidekick in doing so, but otherwise, he's nothing new to me."
"He seemed quiet enough beside Diddlysquat," Retort pointed out. The other transformer looked disgusted.
"Just because he let the tank ask all of the real questions doesn't mean anything. Hypotenuse was watching for your answers. I wouldn't be surprised if he knew I was there the whole time."
"I see." Retort thought for a few minutes, frowning over something; the Minicon wondered without much interest what was troubling him so much. Eventually the larger 'bot spoke. "Do you think they will do, Tangent?"
One third of Syntax looked back at him.
"I suggested them, didn'tI?" snapped Tangent haughtily.
"So… we have a cable."
"Pretty much."
"…Think we can get Sky on it?"
"What?"
"Fine. Do we know where it leads?"
"Of course we don't. That's why we're going to look."
Prowl's visor flashed. "Oh." The Emergency Minicons had managed to find their way down to the grid from whence the system error had originated. They had even managed to find the medium through which, they supposed, it had entered into the system in the first place. This had not, however, resulted in their discovery of an obvious culprit. Nor were they moving. And Prowl was tired of standing in pitch darkness with wires all around him. "How come the place is still dark? The power's back again, isn't it?"
"This section of the database appears to have been sealed off," Makeshift explained. "Very sensible, but it doesn't help us."
"No kidding." Prowl looked around again. The darkness itself did not bother him: he worked in it often enough, at night or in enclosed spaces or horrendous weather. Well, he had worked in it…
And would do so again, he promised himself. Where else would his investigating skills have the chance to shine as well? Besides, you couldn't have a search and rescue team that stayed indoors in bad weather. That would be almost as bad as one that sought shelter in the middle of a disaster. Not that it was forbidden to take cover or anything, just that the Emergency Team believed very firmly in always taking care of number one first. It was just a mater of priorities. Of course, as far as Firebot, Makeshift and Prowl were concerned, number one was always the civilian you were trying to save.
He looked over, hearing muffled curses and seeing Makeshift doing something with the computer cables next to him. "What's the hold up? Who are we waiting for? Let's go!"
"Just a minute," Makeshift said patiently. "Firebot's gotten his hose tangled in the wiring."
"Diddlysquat! Wait!"
The spider tank halted just outside the gates to the base compound, and waited as the administrator he recognised from earlier hurried to catch up with him. "Yeah, what is it?"
"You can't just go!"
"Why not?" said Diddlysquat grumpily. "I thought you wanted me to do this."
"Yes, but you can't find them alone!"
"So?" The tank tilted for a moment in a shrug. "I've got friends I can pay a call on."
"And if they're working on government projects, how are they going to get time off without their supervisors kicking up a fuss?" Hendiadys sighed when the tank answered him with silence. "And you'll find them faster if I'm with you."
"How?"
"We know where your old team-mates are," said Hendiadys. "All of them. We know where everyone is. We're the government, Diddlysquat, records are our speciality."
Diddlysquat considered this. "Did Retort send you?"
Hendiadys wondered what his superior's backing meant to a warden of Minicons. "As it happens, yes, but what-" He was cut off as the tank interrupted him.
"Good." Diddlysquat ignored the sputtering 'bot. "Which way?"
"That depends on who exactly you are looking for..." Hendiadys transformed into his vehicle mode, a hover car, and drove ahead, leading the spider tank to where he might find his associates, even as said tank told him which way he needed to be led.
It was a roundabout thought and didn't appear to make all that much sense. Hendiadys felt rather proud of it.
Disclaimer: Much to my annoyance, I only own Hendiadys the Plot Device, Terrorsheen the Dumb, Retort and the plot. Diddlysquat belongs to ckret, and Hypotenuse is mine in name only. As a character he belongs in Sanctified By Oppression (which you will read now or forever hold your peace) and with Diddlysquat. Everyone else is not mine, I don't own even a tiny part of Cybertron, but if I did, I'd go there for the summer each year and spend a week or two beating rival fans off it with a pitchfork.
Many thanks to those of the Padded Cell who informed me about the Minicons' characters months and months ago when I was researching, long before this plot took hold; to ckret for letting me write Diddlysquat (thankyouthankyouthankyou) and also for checking the continuity and his character. It should also be mentioned that were it not for Cobalt, Prowl would have developed a nasty armour condition called 'pant', which one assumes would have eaten away all his paint, except that Cobalt pointed out the typo and I fixed it.